


An Unfinished Tale of Sam

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-14
Updated: 2010-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:57:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's thoughts on the quest in drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unfinished Tale of Sam

Letters and starlight, that’s how us Gamgees always thought of the Bagginses. Mr. Bilbo’s eyes always shimmered with starlight, you see, when he told his tales of faraway lands, of dragons and spiders and Wood Elves. How he loved frightening us with his warnings that there are worse things than mushroom fairies in the woods. As for Mr. Frodo’s eyes, it goes without saying that even when he was cross and firm, like when dealing with the Sacksville-Bagginses or trying to rid Bag End of every nosy hobbit in the Shire, they captured not only the stars but the moon.

And now…me, going to see the Elves and all. That’s what I get for meddling in the business of my betters, but I’d not have had it any other way. My feet should be planted firmly in the potatoes and cabbage, as the Gaffer always said, but following Mr. Frodo is like following the moon. I just have to do it. I don’t care what Ted Sandyman says – I believe all the tales. I do believe in dragons and elves and moonlight. And I have to do it. I have to see it through, whether or no, to whatever end.

I hadn’t never been so far from Hobbiton before in my life. I’ve never seen any of the Big Folk, save Gandalf, either. And here both came in one day. I don’t care to come again on those folk in black, with their sniffing and creeping. My heart freezes when I think about the stern fear in Gandalf’s eyes and about how he talked about a Dark Lord stretching, stretching his wicked hands for that golden Ring and all. Don’t I wish Mr. Bilbo had just left that Ring where it belonged, deep in the dark places of the world?

Frodo asked me what I think of the Elves, but I can’t really answer just yet. I feel as if my tongue’s stuck at the top of my mouth. They’re too far above my taste. Nobody back home will ever believe us, if we even make it back to tell tales. None of the hobbits I drink ale with at the Green Dragon can see beyond his nose. But I can now. Under all that starlight, I saw my path as clear as a bright autumn sky. Right into darkness we’ll go, hand in hand, and I’ll see it through.

Please don’t look at me so sternly, Mr. Frodo. I had to let them in on the conspiracy. I couldn’t do it without their help, and besides, they love you. They won’t let you give them the slip and go off alone into the dark. Mr. Merry says I’d jump down a dragon’s throat for you, and that I would. But I say they would, too. Mr. Merry’s got a clever head on his shoulders, and Pippin’s all heart. They don’t know just yet how dark the path is likely to get, but I guess neither do any of us.

This accursed forest presses in on my heart like a bad dream. I’m thinking now that I’d much rather see a Black Rider and hear one of them awful screeches than this uneasy feeling of being watched by none too friendly eyes. After that willow grabbed Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin, I ain’t never knew there were so many dark pockets in the world, filled with such malice. The tales are all true then. And if that’s the case, I wonder how many more of the world’s wonders -- and horrors -- we’re likely to stumble on.

I feel like I stepped right inside one of them fairy books Mr. Bilbo used to read to us. I doubt he’s ever met anyone the likes of Tom Bombadil. No, sir. I doubt anyone has, you see.  
And that he could see Mr. Frodo with the Ring on his finger – I think even the Elves don’t have that kind of magic. His voice is unlike any I’ve ever heard before, full of love and magic. I wish he’d take care of us.

Cold, cold stone. The chill seeped right on to my heart and I didn't feel no more, only that I was so alone while Mr. Frodo frolicked in the sun, far from us, happy but free. He hated to leave us, but he had to. He had made a promise, you see. Far better us than him here in the dark stony fog. It's cold here under the bones and stone, knowing that we have been felled and that our Kingdom is lost. But hoy, merry song fills my heart, waking me, and there he is, smiling and sunny as spring, and the fell dreams leave my head.

Nothing’s made me feel as uprooted as those tall, towering houses of men. Mr. Frodo doesn’t seem to mind. He walks forward as if he pays no heed to being so much smaller than those awkward, bumbling men who stare and laugh. The ale goes down well, but it’s the newness of it, and suddenly my heart just aches and aches inside. It ain't home and that's a fact, and I suddenly want to be home more than anything in the world. But I look at Mr. Frodo and he gives me a reassuring smile and I remember why I'm here in the first place.


End file.
